


A Second Life, A Second Heart

by Squidgilator



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A Life in the Day, Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, M/M, Sad Eliot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidgilator/pseuds/Squidgilator
Summary: At the end of Episode 3x05, Eliot and Quentin remember a life already lived. A small peek into Eliot's head.





	A Second Life, A Second Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a rush after finally seeing the episode. Maybe at some point I'll flesh it out further, but for now it's just a very short couldn't-help-myself piece!

Getting the rush of memories was like finding a second heart that Eliot hadn't even realized was lost. As the first bite of the peach was still in his mouth, he remembered 60 years of summer fruit. As the juice dribbled down his chin he got back a hundred memories of mosaic patterns, including the dick shape they had done for the hell of it. And as he swallowed, thickly, his throat closing up even as he did so, he got back the memories of Quentin in his bed, in his mouth.

He gaped at Quentin, and saw in his face that Quentin had felt it too. 

It was like waking up from a dream and realizing the person next to you had woken up from the same one. 

"I got so old," he said, when what he meant to say was: _you loved me, for a while._

"You died," responded Quentin, and his face was white and horrified.

Eliot couldn't breathe, because yes--that had come back too. And more--Quentin's anger, and frustration. Eliot's helplessness in the face of it. Quentin's wife. Quentin's son. Oh, fuck--Quentin's _son_. 

Quentin was breathing heavily beside him. Without looking up, Eliot, with the intimate knowledge that comes with a lifetime of living beside someone, could feel that Quentin was weeping. He also knew, to the bone-deep depths of him, that Quentin was weeping for his lost family. 

It made Eliot want to weep, too.

The newly discovered heart inside him, the well of emotions that he had only just remembered, felt like it was expanding painfully in his ribcage. He babbled something--he couldn't hear what he was saying over the roar in his head--but he must have said something, because Quentin had turned towards him, as if waiting for him to continue. Eliot couldn't, and eventually Quentin turned away.

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. Fuck, he had loved that little life. Quiet, contained, but purposeful. A few years of utter perfection--Eliot's heart jumped at the thought of Quentin kissing him for the first time, and then jumped again at the thought of other first times. And second, third, and fourth times. 

All these years of pining, of trying to forget to pine, and this is what he gets? Memories from another life that prove it's never meant to be. Memories that only show him that, in the end, he and Quentin would tear each other apart.

Part of him wanted to reject that conclusion and convince himself that he could try again--this time, he would be better. He and Quentin would get together and he wouldn't frustrate or anger Quentin and they would never stop loving each other, not ever. 

Part of him wanted to turn to Quentin right now and say that. _We'll make it work this time_ , he could imagine saying. _Let's try again this fucker again._

But all the other parts knew better. 

He could have wept for days, but he had a kingdom to save. Fuck-he had a few dozen _worlds_ to save, if not more. With a vicious mental effort, he clenched down on this traitorous second heart, squeezing with all the might he had, until the thing was small enough to ignore. A weak, uneven beat--he could barely feel it. He told himself he could barely remember his other life. 

He told himself. 

Getting up, muttering something about wine, he turned away from Quentin and wiped his face brusquely. This life would go on, the other would fade. He would forget. He had to forget.


End file.
